Run (Whouffle AU)
by OswinsSouffleShop
Summary: A zombie apocalypse has taken over England, and the survivors are just trying to get by. On a scavenging trip a nanny named Clara Oswald just barely escapes a pack of the undead. A man called The Doctor saves her, and Clara will try anything to find him again.
1. Chapter 1

"Twenty-Seven days," Clara Oswald said into the recorder, "It's almost been a month since this all started." She fidgeted in her seat, which was a tattered office chair. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but she didn't need comfort anymore. "George hasn't come back from scavenging," she said, looking over her shoulder to see if the children were near. "It's been five days, and I suspect he has either been turned into a zombie, or has been killed." She said the last part softly, not wanting George Maitland's children to hear her.

"Supplies are running low, so I'll have to go out soon," she continued, and this was really her admitting this to herself. It wasn't so bad getting supplies early on, when the majority of London wasn't undead, but as their numbers grew the supplies dwindled.

"Clara," Angie, one of George Maitland's children called, "Clara, are you up there?"

"Yeah," she replied, and she heard Angie's feet shuffle up the stairs. Her footsteps were easy to distinguish from her brother Artie's. They were heavier and more pronounced.

Clara stopped the recording, sliding it into the side table's drawer. She kept the recordings just incase it was only England that was infected by the disease. It was to give people insight on what was happening to the city.

"Anything wrong?" Clara asked, sliding her hands down the sides of her dress. It would be much more sensible to wear some trousers, but the few pairs she owned had been ripped, or used as bartering.

"We're down to the last of our water," Angie informed her, not crossing the doorway of the bedroom. Clara swallowed, and then nodded, trying not to show how freaked out about this she actually was.

"I-I'll go find some," she replied, and Angie lowered her eyes.

"My dad went out to get some though, right?" the girl asked, and Clara sucked in a quick breath. Angie wasn't stupid, she was actually pretty smart, and this was why Clara suspected that she knew five days was long for a scavenging trip.

"He's probably just holed up somewhere," Clare told her, "Probably ran into some zombies and hid out for a few days." Angie nodded, not saying what both Clara and her knew. "Besides, he didn't know we were low on water, he was just getting non-perishables," she reminded, "I was going to need to go out soon anyway."

"So it's just going to be Artie and I?" Angie asked, and Clara could detect the panic in her voice.

It broke Clara's heart just a bit. Back when Clara was just a nanny, and things were normal, Angie was a strong-willed girl. She was confident, and loud, and often reminded Clara she wasn't her mother. Clara missed that, she really did. She preferred an opinionated Angie to a quiet Angie any day.

"I want to show you something," Clara said, beckoning her over. Clara was at the window, one of the only ones that hadn't been boarded up. They'd left it alone because it was on the second floor, and they didn't see the undead gaining the ability of flight anything soon.

"You see that," she told Angie, moving her so she was situated in front of the window. Angie leaned forward, peering at the street. "There aren't any zombies out there right now," she told her, and Angie nodded. She was right, there were none. There was the occasional running survivor, but none of the living dead. "We stayed in the house because we're in a part of town that isn't raided often."

"But what if they came?" Angie asked, pulling back from the window, "I can't fight one of them." Clara smiled at her.

"If there's anyone I know that could fight a one of those nasty things, it's you," she admitted, and Angie cracked a slight smile. "Besides," she continued softly, "I'm confident that our barricades would hold up."

"Thanks," Angie muttered, sighing. "I'm going to go check on Artie," she said.

"Go ahead and tell him I'll be leaving soon," Clara told her, and Angie nodded, if not hesitantly. "I just don't want it to be dark when I go out."

One of the first conflictions that appeared when the disease came to be, and London took on the feeling of an apocalypse, was whether to go out at night or during the day. During the day it was easier to see, but it was also easier for people to see you. During the night it was harder to see, but harder for people to see you.

Clara didn't love the idea of going out during the idea, but it was better for the petite brunette. It was easier for her to hide during the day thanks to height, and she liked being able to see her surroundings.

Angie's footsteps pattered back down the stairs, and Clara slumped against the wall of her bedroom. Water was something that Clara had been worrying about since the circumstances became clear. With the city in pandemonium it was only time before the water was going to shut off. It took only six days for the stop in electricity and power to happen.

Things were panicked before that happened, but when you take away what makes civilization civilized, that's when the real trouble begins.

Clara's only hope for getting water was going to a store to see if there were bottles left over. Clara had put a bucket outside to collect rainwater, but it'd been painstakingly dry the past few days, and they had to rely on their diminishing water supply.

She looked back out the window, and once again she was shocked by how bright it was. The sun was shining, the sky was a light blue, and the concrete shimmered from the sunlight.

Such a horrible world shouldn't be so beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

Clara knocked on the wood panel of the door three times. The first knock was followed by period of silence, and then two quick knocks. This was her signal to Angie and Artie that they needed to put up the barricades again.

Clara knew the knock was a sign that was she was leaving, but she waited for several minutes after. She wanted to make sure the kids put the boards up, and that Clara would only see wood through the glass pane. The infected may have not wandered by their area often, but you could never be too careful.

When she was sure that they were fine, Clara spun around, looking at the sunny street spread in front of her. She looked right, then left, then right around. This used to be the thing to do when looking for cars, but cars were a rare right once the disease spread. When you were looking out for something odds are you were looking for the living dead.

She started out slow, sticking to the side of building, in the dim shadows. She preferred not to run if she could help it. The tights under her dress helped make movement more comfortable, but she was still wearing a dress. In some ways the nice clothing made her feel normal, but Clara had worn the dress three times since last washing it.

Every sound was like an alarm. She was already on high alert though, eyes darted around her, and hand clutched on the knife in her hand.

Clara was never a fan of violence. Maybe this was why she hadn't carried a gun with her. She wasn't a fan of the knife, but it seemed less lethal. It's just metal sharpened, where as a gun is a more advanced piece of weaponry. The knife she held by her leg was a large steak knife, so it wasn't the tamest of things, but Clara wasn't an idiot. She'd heard the term adapt to survive, and any form of a weapon was an act of adapting.

She heard something like a quick breath, and she spun around, knife suddenly up. It wasn't the sound of a zombie, they were much more obvious. Loud and proud as George Maitland had said. What she was hearing was humane, civilized, and most certainly human.

The thing about an apocalyptic event is that when one predator appears, hundreds rise.

Everyone dealt with the disease in different ways. People who knew someone affected by it wanted a cure. Some people who were religious saw it as God's punishment for our sin. Conspiracists were the ones with the leg up on the situation since they'd be prepping for the event for years. There were people that were scared. There were people who were ready for leadership when it became apparent a leader was needed.

As a result of the leaders and followers, groups were formed. They were formed before the government fell, and they were ready when people needed a beacon. People streamed toward them, and although Clara had only heard about them from whispers, it seemed there was a gang mentality to them. She knew they stole, and that they sent people out in packs, preying on the people who hadn't joined them.

She heard the breathing again, and Clara picked up her pace. She was heading toward the small convenience store a few blocks away. She'd hidden non-perishables in a loose floorboard that first week when civility became history. Stores were raided, houses were ransacked, and people were left homeless. She was sure someone had discovered the hidden provisions, including bottled water, but she could hope something was left.

Keeping an alert ear she looked over her shoulder, making sure no one was following her. She couldn't see anyone, but she heard breathing. Breathing shouldn't have scared as much as it did, but it was honestly frightening.

In her mind she was trying to determine which group the person belonged to. For a period of time after the government fell, Clara spoke to the neighbors. They informed her of all the major powerhouses. George would try to bring back information from his scavenges as well, he was always curious about them.

There several more than a dozen, but there were five that Clara heard about more than the others. She assumed some groups were kinder than others, but the top five seemed like extremists.

There were The Angels, The Daleks, The Silence, The Cybermen, and The Sontarans. They each had their distinctive attributes, but they all seemed intimidating to her. She guessed it was better to have people taking power since the normal order had fell, but it was a battle between groups, and it all seemed silly to her. People needed to be finding a cure.

In twenty-eight days small societies had been formed, but no one to Clara's knowledge had done anything to get rid of the zombies, or cure the disease. She may have understood the term 'adapt to survive', but they didn't have to adapt if they could find a way to fix it all.

She lowered her knife back to her side, loosening her tight grip on the plastic handle. She could slip it into the backpack placed on her shoulders, but she was afraid to be defenseless.

Clara was a smart girl. She was a brilliant girl. She used to take pride in that, but intelligence was only so helpful when it came to combat. You can strategize all you want, but when it comes to strength. Clara was a petite girl who'd never partook in extra athletics. She wasn't out of shape, but she couldn't exactly win a street fight against a six-foot man.

Evolution of the mind wasn't going to help you when brain-dead creatures and barbaric humans were trying to attack you.

At the pace of a run Clara continued her trek to the store. She couldn't remember the exact moment when the breathing stop, but she knew it did. She assumed she was dealing with a member of The Angels or The Silence, sly bunch they were, but she couldn't decide which of those two. She wasn't that interested in who they were when they left, she was just hoping they didn't decide in the area.

The rest of Clara's walk was rather uneventful. She did see the pattern of The Silence on a building across the street, unnerving black marks against the brick, so that little mystery was solved. They weren't to close to The Maitland home, but it was a bit to close for comfort.

When Clara arrived at the grocery store she was relived to find no one else was there. If someone else had shown up getting supplies would've been hard. She crept through the open door, eyes skimming over the dozens of empty shelves.

She made her way to the back of the store, to where she'd found the loose floorboard previously, and got onto her knees. She hadn't had time to mark, or memorize, so she ran her fingers over the flooring until they reached an uneven board.

She had been right, someone had found her hiding spot. They'd taken the water bottles, the energy bars, and the few batteries she'd stored. The only thing left was a half eaten package of chocolate. She slipped the sweets into her bag, and she searched the rest of the store for anything, but it was obvious it'd been cleaned out. A few coins remained on the counter, but money was hardly useful anymore.

The few stores left open bartered, trading clothing and food, which was were Clara's pants had all gone. If the scavenging didn't work out Clara would resort to going to trade, but all she had was a shirt of Angie's, and it wouldn't get her much.

Clara knew of a shop near there that would possibly have some water left, so she abandoned the small grocery store. After walking on the streets for several minutes she stripped off her jacket, stuffing it into her backpack. She'd left it rather empty, hopeful that she wouldn't need to stay out long, and that she'd need the room for the things she would gather.

She wondered if hope would be the cause for her near certain demise.

She had slightly better luck at the next store she visited. She was able to get three bottles of water, a lone pack of ramen noodles, several packs of beef jerky, and a travel bottle of shampoo. She knew she'd be able to find something in a Tesco, but she also knew that was where people would be. Some people camped out in larger stores like that, and she couldn't know if those people could be trusted.

Clara was walking out of the second store when she heard a noise again. It wasn't breathing, it was a sort of moaning, along with some shuffling of the feet. _Loud and _Proud, she thought with fear, hand tightening around the knife.

They weren't that close to her, only at the end of the street, but the street wasn't long, and see could see their faces. Towards the beginning, when the disease acted like a horrible illness, the diseased just looked sick. They were a bit pale, a bit slow, and a bit weak.

After a month they'd become a sort of beastly creature. Their pale skin turned gray, and it peeled off. The hair came off in tangles, the remaining strands coarse and matted. They were hunched, and they walked with a limp.

People used to say zombies would be slow. Whoever said made a terrible mistake.

Zombies are quick. Their only motivation is flesh, and the one motivation excites them. The idea of flesh gives them a sort of adrenaline that allows them to stumble at incredible speed. Before motivation they were slow though. They barely paid attention to anything out of their direct path, so Clara was okay at the moment.

She would've run back into the store if it was larger, but she knew it would only confine her if the infected wandered into it. Her best choice was to get away from the scene, and she figured her best choice was a good idea.

She couldn't be fast. She had to inch her way out. She had her knife, but she wasn't sure how much her adrenaline would help her against a thing driven by pure motivation.

She inched across the side of the building, pretending she was a snake slivering away. No hissing though, hissing would attract too much attention. At first she thought there might be a chance she would make it away from them, but then she heard the snap.

It was the snap of a can be stepped on, and Clara should've bee more careful, but there was no changing what had been done. She looked to see if the infected had seen her, but that was probably the wrong thing to do.

Clara had witnessed them in action from her window several times, but she'd never been the one they were coming for. She'd always been confused when a character would stand still in front of a car coming straight toward them. She would think instinct would kick in, and she would run, but she realized when she was the deer caught in headlights that wasn't the case.

She was frozen by shock, already large eyes widening as the undead came straight toward her. They moved in an odd way. It was like someone sped up a tape of a person with a bad back and foot walking. It was unnatural, although she should have expected that from such an unnatural creature.

If that one word hadn't been spoken to her it was doubtful she ever would've survived that encounter. She would've been eaten alive, and The Maitland children would be left to themselves.

But the word was spoken to her. One single word spoken in such a way it was calm, and frightened, and challenging. All of this in one syllable.

"Run," he said, grabbing her hand.

She did.


	3. Chapter 3

The man pulled Clara as they ran, the infected close on their tail. She could hear the noises at a heightened level. The ragged grunts and groans the undead made, the heavy breathing of herself, and the still breathes of the man pulling her. She could hear all of these. She was running purely out of instinct at that point. Adrenaline pumping through her veins as her short legs worked double time to run along with the man who towered over her.

They seemed to run forever, or at least that's how long it felt to be for Clara. The undead had some sort of never ending drive. Clara's feet couldn't hold up much after five minutes of running the fastest she'd ever had, with very few calories to run on.

They did stop though. They would have had to eventually. Their pursuers were a bit behind at one point, and the man managed to pull Clara into a small alley. It was dark, it was small, and she hoped it wouldn't be obvious to the zombies that they'd gone into it.

Clara savored the stop of action, leaning against the brick wall, which dug into her back. She had tried to stop her uneven breaths from coming out, but she could only bring her breathing to a whimper.

Clara would've kept an eye on the entranceway to the street, but her savior was doing that for her. He was leaning against the brick wall like her, although his eyes were focused on the street. She didn't watch the street herself, she chose instead to calm herself down.

Normally in order to lower her heart rate she'd try to bake a soufflé, or read a book her mother had given her again, but she had little options at that moment. She decided to watch the man who'd saved her a certain death.

The alley was dim, but there was still daylight, providing her enough light to inspect the man. She determined several things in a matter of seconds. One, he wasn't as old as she thought he was. Two, he looked out of place in his bowtie and tweed jacket. Three, he was very, very tall.

Clara herself stood at only above five feet, and the man in front of her towered over her. She thought he had to be six foot. Her neck tilted up to watch him watch the street.

She heard noises diminishing from her hearing. The moans were barely audible. This was when she chose to spoke.

"Thanks," she said simply, softly lightly incase anyone was near. He turned his head, and she could finally she his whole face. His face was made up of many angles: sharp cheekbones and a prominent chin. Clara briefly realized this was the type of guy she would've liked before all the madness began.

"Your welcome,-" he paused, awaiting her to finish.

"Clara," she told him, erecting her back from the brick wall, "Clara Oswald."

"Your very welcome, Clara," he told her softly. Her eyes flicked to the opening of the alley, the reminder kicking in that she still needed to get water. She felt a hand clamp on her right shoulder, stopping her from moving. "I wouldn't do that, Clara," the man informed her, eyes frantic. "The gangs usually strike after a zombies been in the area," he told her, and her face must've given away that she was confused. "They scavenge the dead," he explained.

"Oh." She glanced down at his hand, which remained on Clara's shoulder. It retracted in a second, as if her eyes were a laser. "I have to get supplies," she informed, returning her eyes to the man, "That's why I was out earlier." He nodded, not paying much attention to her. He seemed to be listening intently to what was happening around them. "That means I have to go find some food," she clarified.

"Not tonight you aren't," he replied, fishing in his pocket for something, coming out with a small device. It was a slim rectangle.

"My bag ripped," Clara protested, slipping the now light bag off her shoulders and showing it to him. In the process of running the bag had ripped, and almost of all of her supplies had fallen out. She vaguely remembered it happening, but she wasn't surprised she hadn't realized what had happened. It wouldn't have mattered if she knew what was happening though, there would have been nothing to do about it. "I have to get water before I go home. Which will have to be soon now that I don't have anything."

"If you wait until dark, till the gangs have left, then I can get you water," he promised her, and her eyes widened.

"You have water?" Clara asked, "Actual, spare, water?" He laughed lightly, and nodded. Clara's hope drained when she realized she couldn't be able to get home if she accepted his offer. When she told him this he simply added to his offer.

"You can stay with me, there's plenty of room at my camp," he told her. She was about to say that she needed to be home for Angie and Artie, but she quickly shoved that thought down. What the man was offering her perfect. She'd get water and shelter.

It seemed to perfect for what was happening.

"Are _you_ in one of the gangs?" Clara asked him, and he shook his head, a look almost humorous featured on his face.

"Just a camp," he promised, "Several people other than me, an old flat building, and supplies." Clara was hesitant, but there weren't any other options at that point. The sun was already fading, and her body needed rest.

"I never asked for your name," Clara said in realization. Her eyes darted up to his. He didn't say anything. "So, what is it?" she started in questioning, "What's your name?"

"You can call me The Doctor," he said in introduction, and Clara's brow rose, but she didn't say anything. His name was one of the least odd things she'd encountered in the past month. He seemed a bit surprised that she didn't question him further on the topic. His question stumbled out of his mouth. "Will you take me up on the offer then?" he asked, and Clara nodded.

"Sure," she answered, but she was obviously hesitant.

"I'll keep you safe, Clara," he promised her, "And I'll make sure you get what you need." He glanced down at the crumpled bag in her hands, which had held provisions only moments before. "Maybe get you a new bag," he added, and Clara smiled.

"But you'll have the water?" she asked, just to make sure. He smiled, and nodded once more.

"I _promise _I'll have the water," he repeated.

"In that case," Clara said, digging the only things remaining in her bag, and slipping it into her pockets. They barely fit, but it worked. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Unedited**

"Just a bit farther," The Doctor whispered into Clara's ear, gripping her hand tight as he guided her through the streets. They were going further than she'd ventured since everything began. Although she was scared, the man with her calmed her. In the midst of everything he kept a calm voice, obviously noticing that the woman he'd found was jumpy.

"Is that it?" she asked in the form of mutter. They had just neared a slim building, wedged between two brownstones. It looked unassuming enough. He looked down at and nodded, giving her a wrist a gentle tug.

With one hand over her pocket, the other gripped tightly with The Doctor as they made their way to the building. She was thankful for her guide since the city of London had fallen to darkness a few minutes before, and her sight was fading.

The door swung right open, which startled Clara. Unlocked doors didn't seem very safe to her. When they entered the building, with the limited sight she had, she deducted it housed several flats.

"We're on the third and fourth floors," he informed Clara, voice still soft as he started to a staircase. The few supplies she held in her pockets rattled as they bounded up the stairs. The noise was like an unwanted beacon in the stark silence.

Once they reached the fourth floor Clara realized she hadn't known what she was expecting. The doors inside the house were locked, and as The Doctor fumbled through his jacket for a key, Clara stood away, taking in everything.

That was the first moment where she could just stand there, her shoulders sagging. She didn't need to be ready to run at any second. She could just _be_. It was only when the door creaked open did she move. She followed behind The Doctor, eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to adjust to the lighting.

Clara didn't anticipate the camp to look a certain way, but she found herself taken aback. She realized she hadn't thought it would be so nice.

It wasn't in perfect shape. It smelled a bit dusty, and it was messy; supplies piled up in random spots. It was nice though. Candles were set around the flat, casting a warm glow on the place.

"Doctor," a voice said, a bit surprised. A woman was standing by the kitchenette, setting a burnt out candle down. "I wasn't aware you'd be coming back so soon," she admitted, and her eyes traveled to Clara, who had stepped out from behind him. "And with a friend."

"My name's Clara Oswald," she told the woman, who was watching her, the candle clanging as she pushed it away from the edge. "The Doctor saved me," she quickly added, realizing that she was probably curious to her appearance, "and he offered me a place to crash for the night."

"My name is Madame Vastra," she said after several seconds of hesitation. Her eyes, an impossible green, flicked to The Doctor, and then back to Clara. Clara herself couldn't take her eyes off of Vastra. She was one of those women who seemed ageless. She could've been forty-six in reality, but she looked as if she could pass for thirty-one.

"I was going to let Clara sleep upstairs," The Doctor said, finally speaking, "Is that alright?" Vastra nodded, and soon an additional person walked into the room. He was a man, very short, baldhead, and seemingly no neck.

"Who's the boy?" he asked, eyes set of Clara, whose forehead furrowed. She knew she hadn't had a proper shower in several weeks, but she'd thought she'd maintained a decent appearance.

"Ignore Strax," The Doctor told her, noticing her reaction. Clara lifted her chin in reply, unknowingly smoothing back her hair.

"Her name's Clara," Madame Vastra told Strax. "She's staying with us for a few days."

"Only one night actually," Clara said, piping up. "I'm only staying here for the night. I've got a place of my own to get back to."

"Do you have a family?" Vastra asked expectantly.

"I look after two children," she said in response, "I'm a nanny."

"Even after everything that happened?" Vastra questioned.

"Yes," she said simply, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the questioning.

"Well," The Doctor blurted. "I'm going to go show Clara to her room now that's she met everyone, or least most everyone-" he paused, averting his eyes to Clara "- you'll probably meet Jenny tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Clara," Vastra said, and Clara gave her a small smile.

"You'll be on the top floor," The Doctor told Clara, motioning for her to follow him. "I've got an extra room." They made their way out of the flat, back to the stairwell. They walked up the last flight, and they entered his flat.

It had the same layout as the floor below, but it better kept. Emergency flashlights were set around the place, and The Doctor moved around the place turning several of them on. This set a white glow on the entire place.

His flat was very bare in comparison to the one below it. There was sparse furnishing, and the stacks of supplies were neat and pushed to the side.

"There's two rooms, so you can sleep in that one," he told her, moving over to one of the doors. "The sheets are already there," he informed her, eyes watching her closely as she moved over to door, before him.

"Thanks again," she said, now in front of him, "for everything." He looked uncomfortable receiving the compliment, eyes darting the door, pushing it open.

"Night," he told her, a wide grin quickly on his face. Clara was about to say something in return, but he was already gone, darting through the other door. A small frown formed on her face, but she didn't even notice. She walked through the doors, realizing just how tired she was when she saw the bed.

She shrugged off the jacket, resting it on the floor. She sat down on the bed, feet dangling off the bed as she kicked off the shoes. When she got under the covers a small part of her told her to be scared, to be alert of her surrounding. It wasn't the fatigue that made her forget to be afraid.

It was that she knew the The Doctor was just in the other room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note - I know I haven't had tons of feedback yet, but it really makes me happy what I've gotten. I'm just happy that anyone reads this story at all. As for this chapter I know it's a bit short, but I've written most of the next chapter, and it is substantially longer than this one. I'm going to try to update at least once a week for now on. Please comment if you like this story so far, have any ideas, or any critiques.**

When Clara awoke she felt a need to jump up and check on the children. That was, until she remembered the children weren't with her. Clara looked around the room she was in, the details of the previous day flitting into her mind, painting a picture slowly. The unfamiliar surrounding scared her for a moment, but then she remembered what had happened.

She left her bedroom, eyes still fuzzy as she crossed into the main area of the flat. The room was cold, and she crossed her arms in an attempt to maintain her body heat. Just as she was pondering whether she should go down a floor, or stay in the same flat, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Good morning, Clara," the movement said, giving the girl a quick smile as he crossed in front of her, quickly returning his focus on the object in his hands.

"Morning," she replied back, watching what he held in his hands. It was familiar, but it took her several moments to remember where she had seen it. "What _is_ it?" she asked, rocking forward on her feet out of habit as he moved farther from her to the kitchen. He looked up; holding the object in front of him, eye raised for confirmation. "You had that when you saved me yesterday," she told him, moving across the floor. "Is it a weapon?" she asked, stopping at the edge of the counter to watch him tinker with it.

He paused, as if thinking about his answer. "I'm not a fan of weapons," he admitted, placing the slim object on the counter, "this is a merely a disabling device." Clara's brows furrowed.

"A disabling device … against the zombies?" she asked, not quite sure she understand what she'd heard.

"When you press this button-," he pointed to a small circle near the bottom of the tall, thin, and rounded device, "-it releases a radio wave. Makes the infected go a insane." Clara hand moved towards it, but when she noticed his eyes watching as it moved, she stopped. "I'm a bit of a technology geek," he admitted with a grin, picking up the device and pointing it towards Clara. When he pressed down on the circle she flinched, a grin twitching onto his face for a moment.

"Only infects the undead," he informed her, holding the object out to her, "something about the disease changing their molecular structure." She took it, inspecting it closely. Clara was more of a history person, but she had done well in science. The thought of what The Doctor had created didn't even occur to her.

"It looks a bit like a screw driver," she told him, running her thumb over the ridges. "An oversized screwdriver," she added with laugh, "a sonic screwdriver." She passed it over, a smile still on her face.

"Sonic screwdriver," he repeated, looking pleased. "I would get it patented if I could." He continued to tinker with the object, twisted the top, popping a few pieces on and off. After a couple of minutes he must've realized that Clara was just standing there, looking around his flat, because he dropped he suddenly pieced the screwdriver together, moving over to a cabinet. He grabbed a bowl of cereal, a cup, and a spoon, all somehow in one movement.

"Oh," Clara said, not realizing she hadn't eaten, "Thanks."

"Sorry I don't have any milk," he replied.

"I wouldn't expect you to," she said simply, pouring the cereal into the mug, slipping the spoon into the makeshift bowl. It was after only a several bites she realized that he wasn't eating anything. "Are you not hungry?" she asked.

"I already ate," he told her simply, scooping up the screwdriver and slipping it into a drawer. A pregnant silence began to fall over the two, but The Doctor quickly broke it. "Besides, I have to go round up your supplies," he interjected, pushing himself off the counter. "Water, some food, and a new bag?" he asked for confirmation, and Clara nodded thankfully.

While The Doctor went to gather everyone Clara needed the brunette finished up her food. She never loved the taste of dry cereal, but she never loved running for her life either. There were countless things Clara did in order to adapt to the new world.

Footsteps stirred Clara from her thoughts as The Doctor entered the room. He had a small bag in his hands, and Clara could see the outlines where bottles of water were placed.

"I placed a few nonperishables in there," he informed her, eyes darting back down to the bag, "along with a few health bars." Clara grinned, a little bit in disbelief. Here someone was, handing over supplies that would take her over a week to find by her self. When he passed the bag over to her she held it in her hands, almost in disbelief.

"No need to act so surprised," he told her, a slight smile curving onto his lips, "I told you I'd get you that didn't I?" Clara didn't respond; she just looked up at him. With her brows furrowed her hand tightened around the bag.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked him. "All of that stuff downstairs. I'd kill for a bottle of water that's sanitary-" she admitted "- What does that mean for you?" The Doctor blinked, looking taken aback.

"I don't kill. I never kill," he muttered, like a mantra.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," she told him, "I'm just curious."

"I have a lot of friends," he started, hands clasping tightly. Clara darted her eyes to a little stack of food in the corner.

"And enemies?" she thought wistfully.

"Yes," he said sadly, "and enemies." Clara swallowed, swinging the bag, which easily resembled a backpack, onto her shoulders. She wasn't exactly sold on the idea that he got all the supplies from friends, but she didn't want push him either.

"Ready to go?" she blurted, putting on a wide grin. He nodded, thankful for the change of subject.

"Ready to venture into the land of the dead?" he asked her jokingly, and instead of laughing her grin became real. He held out his hand and she eyes it warily. A blush crept up onto The Doctor's cheeks, about to pull his hand back, but Clara's arm leapt out to take it.

"Ready."


	6. Chapter 6

"Angels?" Clara asked for confirmation, voice hushed as The Doctor and her reached the end of a block. A small symbol was placed onto the brick building, just barely large enough to see. If you blinked you would miss it.

"Angels," he confirmation, the change in his voice detectable. The entire concept of the "gangs" confused Clara. She knew the basics, but it wasn't like she could ask a friend about it over the phone. She didn't even know if some of her friends were still alive or dead. Couldn't even fathom that they could be somewhere in the middle. "Just follow close behind me," he instructed, "we should be able to make it through undetected."

Clara was hesitant to say anything. She was used to slipping unnoticed, but she was also just over five foot. The Doctor took that number and added another foot, which made for a much more noticeable height. So instead of choosing a reply from his past comment, she backpedaled.

"So The Angels … they're extremists right?" she asked, trying to coat the fear in her voice as they turned a corner. She realized it would be best for her not to speak at all, considering they were entering dangerous territory. She also noticed how ragged and quick her breaths were, and speaking in a hushed voice was better than a constant reminder of how afraid she was.

"They think this is The Apocalypse," he explained shortly. Clara noticed that he his back was curved while he around her, making him less noticeable by a good couple inches.

"What do you think," she asked softly, and she saw the pause in his step.

"I think there's a reason for it," he told her, "if you were wondering if I believe this is a matter of religion, then I don't think so." He took a breath, and she could see his shoulders rise. Clara focused on the nape of his neck, where his hair met pale skin, while he went to continue his answer. The way he'd said _so _left something unsaid. What was never said wasn't heard that day.

"Well I honestly don't care much about the why, or the how, or the what- well that's a lie, I'm a bit curious-" more of an academic interest than anything else "- I just want to focus more on the resolution." There was a silence that enveloped them, but it wasn't the two of their silence that made it uncomfortable, it was the environment. It was eerily quiet.

"Were you the kid that skipped to the end of books?" he asked her, glancing over his shoulder.

"Just to know what's coming," Clara replied.

"I hate ending," he admitted, almost immediately after her words. "They're so definite," he continued, "after you know what happens can't go back."

"You can," she offered, "in theory at least. You can read the story again."

"But it's never the same. You know what's coming the second time around," he protested.

"I have a feeling we aren't talking about books," she said after a moment, sound in her statement.

He never let her know if her instinct was correct.

"We're going to have to cross the street," he informed Clara, after a pregnant pause. "Just try to get across fast and without to much noise." She peered at the strap of the bag she was holding, imagining the small noises it would make as the supplies moved around.

"Ready?" he asked her, and Clara nodded, little breathes escaping her lips. He extended his hand to Clara and she moved forward so she was standing next to him rather than behind. Without a warning The Doctor started to run across the street. Clara though it was unfair that he had such long legs, and hers were so short. She was working overtime to keep up with him.

As two raced across the street, the bag placed between Clara's shoulder blades bounced as she went. It didn't make as much noise as she had feared; the things inside were packed to tightly.

The road wasn't very wide, not more than usual, but to the two of them it felt painfully wide. Every second they spent in the direct view of everyone around them was a second that The Angels could get them.

The Groups formed weren't formed in the beginning for violence. They were simply havens for people who shared a similar theory or idea. No one expected the situation to become what it had though. It all reminded Clara of a book she'd read back in secondary school, _Lord of the Flies_. Only the groups were larger, the people were older, and their circumstances were definitely different.

Clara stumbled into the side of The Doctor when they stopped at the opposite side of the road. She lingered as she removed herself, only partially because of her shortness of breath.

"You said your house was just a few blocks from this point right?" The Doctor asked as he peered down at the spot was Clara had recently leaned against. She didn't notice where his eyes were since hers were laser focused on a window across the street. "Clara?" he asked, trying to get her attention.

"Sorry," she blurted, the words coming out much too loud for her own comfort. "Sorry," she added once again, this time for a different purpose, and much softer. The Doctor gave her a gentle smile, and asked his question again. "Just down this street and to the left," she answered, looking down the road, "I can lead the way." Her eyes lingered on the window, where she'd just seen a figure standing behind the curtains. The fabric was swaying lightly in their absence.

"They're territory ends soon," The Doctor informed, Clara now leading them as they walked by the shadows of the buildings. "This isn't their main base," he elaborated, and Clara felt a prickle on her neck. Her neck practically snapped behind her, only to find a very startled Doctor behind her.

"Sorry, I thought someone was watching me," she told him, lightly touching the base of her neck, "I'm paranoid, that's all."

"Just me," he promised her, a thinly lipped smile.

"Watching?" she asked, a small laugh threatening to escape her throat.

"Out for you," he finished, glancing around him. "No immediate threat."

"Thank you," she said softly, noting the seriousness in his words. "Anyway … the house is just a short walk away…" her voice faded as she turned back around. She was still wary as she walked down the pavement, eyes flitting like bees in a hive, but she felt a small piece of relief.

It wasn't until Clara finally reached her street did she realize that that might be the last time she'd ever be with The Doctor. She hadn't paid attention to the way to his flat. On her way there she'd been distracted running for her life. The way back she'd been a bundle of nerves, and hadn't thought to look for landmarks. If she walked around she could probably find her way back, but wandering the streets aimlessly wasn't the safest option anymore.

The thought played around her head as she neared The Maitland home. It was so familiar, but the dying plants were something new.

"So," she said, looking to her side where The Doctor stood. She turned, her destination in the corner of her eye.

"So," he repeated, taking her cue and turning his body. This is the awkward part, Clara thought. The end is always the awkward part when it doesn't feel it should be one.

Clara peered up at him, thinking back to the day before. It felt as if she'd fought a small war since the previous day, and when she tried to think about how short it'd been since everything started she got scared.

She was a young woman, had so much to look forward to. She imagined she'd travel some after she left The Maitland's. After that she could settle into a job and find a husband, she could start a family. She'd have a normal life. The idea wasn't always appealing, but at that moment normalcy sounded like a holy grail.

Watching him she remembered a thought from the previous day. That The Doctor looked like the type of guy she'd want to date before everything began. She didn't know if she'd have any other chance to be near another guy her age, and her time with the current one was running out.

Clara stepped forward, filling the gap between the two of them, planting her lips on her. The process wasn't exactly smooth. Her hands had to wrap around his neck so she could bring to her lips. She had to rock forward on her feet to give herself some extra height. Thankfully The Doctor was naturally bent over when he was near Clara, and this helped when she was trying to kiss him, but that's all it was, an attempt.

For a split second he kissed her back, but that was lost in between his flailing hands and eventual pulling away. It wasn't a bad kiss, just quick. No passion, not that there should've been. She didn't regret that she'd done it, and from those few moments when he leaned into the kiss she liked to think he was happy she'd done it as well.

Clara almost chose to be embarrassed by the situation, but she shoved that away. She just smoothed down her dress and gave him a smile.

The Doctor was starting to talk… or more likely, protest, but Clara glanced at The Maitland home down the street ignoring what he was saying.

"No endings, right?" she asked, and he furrowed his nearly nonexistent brows for a moment, his forehead wrinkling before he understood. "Thank you again," she told him, lightly touching the bag on her shoulders.

She gave him one last friendly smile and started to walk towards her house. She didn't look over her shoulder until he reached the door, and when she did, he was gone.


End file.
